


Cracked and Broken

by akpaley



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Strider Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akpaley/pseuds/akpaley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk doesn't like this kid, the one who shares his brother's face. He's too broken. Too needy. He mocks and taints the memory of the man with whom he shares a face and Dirk hates him for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracked and Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly written in several snippets at one in the morning.

Dirk.  
You don't see him until the two of you are close enough to touch, and you stare at him and he stares back at you like you're something huge and horrifying. He's dressed in red, a European-style sword hanging in one hand. He looks so much like your bro, and you don't know what to say because what do you say to someone who mocks everything you've lost by his very presence? And then faster than you can process he's running the opposite direction and you follow him because you don't know what else to do and because even this twisted mockery is closer to Him than you've had in ages and you can't quite bear to just let him leave.

When you catch up he's curled up against a gray stone wall, sword lying on the floor. He's utterly still, face buried in arms resting atop folded knees. His shades have slid up but you still can't see his eyes, they are hidden in the wet fabric of his sleeve. You've never seen your bro this distressed, and while this isn't the same guy (he's your age and garbed in red pajamas for fuck's sake), you can't stand seeing the man cry. He doesn't seem aware of you, he's too rolled up in his own pain, and he looks like a distressed little kid. So you do what you would if you had a kid and you walk up and kneel by him. You ruffle his hair to get his attention before withdrawing your hand almost too quickly (are you allowed to touch him? You aren't sure you want to) and rest your forearm on your knee. "Hey. It's gonna be okay." 

He looks up, and his shades slide back into place but you're close enough that you can see his eyes through them and they're wide and red. Even if you couldn't see them, the tears are painfully obvious. He stares at you for a moment, conflicted, confused, a deer in headlights. And then he hugs you, grips you as tightly as he can, wrapping his arms around you and clutching at your shirt and crying into your chest, murmuring things like "I'm sorry" and "bro" and "you're okay" and it occurs to you that you don't like this version of your brother. You do not like his vulnerability or his crying or the fact that he's got your brother's fucking face but he's acting like the goddamn opposite. You don't want to be the strong one, you need your bro, you need an idol or an equal, you need to not be idolized when inside you're the worst person who ever fucking lived. You want him to let go of you. You are not okay with this level of personal contact. 

But you don't say a damn thing. You keep your stoic, mildly concerned expression. You let him cry because what else are you supposed to do? What else CAN you do? And when he finishes you stand and he lets go and you just say "You done? We have work to do," and he comes, and you hate him more than anything in the world for needing you, but you let him do it anyway. Because fuck. If you're the responsible one you might as well try to not fuck something up for once.

 

Dave  
He's not your brother and in your head you know that, you knew this would happen sooner or later, but you can't reconcile the known logical fact with what your eyes are telling you and fuck, you can't deal with this right now, not while you're still recovering from Jade's time being dead, and it seems like the world has decided now is a great time to smash your heart repeatedly with a hammer. You run. Any attempt at anything else would probably kill you right now.

You break down when running in a straight line stops being a viable option. Your mind is forced to slow down for only a fraction of a second, but it's enough. The shock breaks and the flashbacks crash over you like a wave and you close yourself up to shield yourself from the world, stop the flashbacks, but then he's right fucking there and his voice is the same and his face is the same and even his words are the same and you try to reconcile the difference between the face looking at you with concern and the face of the bloody corpse where it had lain and oh god he's alive again. He's alive.

 

Dirk  
He fucking follows you. You can tell he would still be clinging to your shirt if he could get away with it, but he's a little calmer now. His face is still red from crying, but the tears and the short hiccuping breaths have stopped and maybe he has enough self control to know that it would be kind of pathetic even if it didn't make you uncomfortable. You still stand tall and walk straight however much you'd like to run and get away from him or to turn and shout at him until he gets the point that you're not his brother and you need him to stop treating you like you are. You can't bring yourself to crush him, even if his very presence taints your bro's memory. 

Eventually he sleeps, and for whatever reason you don't ditch him right there. You sit on a patch of grass and watch his troubled sleep. He's in dream bubbles or nightmares or something and occasionally he wimpers asking unknown fantoms to just stop or to come back. You run your hand through your hair and rest your chin on your knees and think of your own nightmares and you wish you could just leave instead of listening to his.  
But you're not sure where you'd go if you left. You don't want to see Jake, don't want to hurt yourself trying to talk to Jane, don't know where to find Roxy. And over everything hangs the mysterious lord who shares Jake's name and the Condensce who's responsible for many of the nightmares you try to avoid. And the other kids are unknowns. There's no good stable place to go. But even so... whatever is going on out there has to be better than pretending to be responsible for a bro lookalike. 

You stand, give him one last look, and walk away.

 

Jade  
You aren't sure who or what you're looking for, but it wasn't this guy. You stop your walk along the coast of your small island as he approaches. He looks at you funny, like you've just done something very perplexing and potentially disturbing. You suppose technically you have done such a thing. Grimbark memories are odd and scattered, but all unpleasant. Last time you saw this guy you teleported him to the furthest right though. You're pretty sure about that one.  
You meet his gaze and hold it, then meander closer. "Hey Mr Stri-- Dirk."  
"Jake's ninja grandma, right?" he says. His tone suggests amusement but his posture slumped and tired, and you have never been so oblivious as everyone thinks you are.  
You nod. "Yep. And you're Dave's bro?"  
There's something unmistakably bitter in the "yes" he gives you in return. You don't think he's looking you in the eye. Even through his odd pointy shades, the slight sideways and downward tilt of his head suggests he's looking anywhere but your face.  
"Let's sit," you say, and he shakes his head but does so anyway. The two of you sit beneath the trees letting the snow which is more like ash at this point separate you like a great river of pale whitish gray. It feels safer this way. An uneasy silence settles between you. 

"Somehow nobody ever mentioned the ears," he says awkwardly, trying to break the figurative ice between you.  
"They're new," you return, watching him. This. This is the kid version of the guy Dave spent his whole life in the shadow of. You've heard all you ever wanted to know and more about him. But somehow you don't think any of it will be quite the same. Not when the terrified british sounding Jake kid is so different from your grandfather. Jake. Jake is going to be dead before too long, you're almost certain. Something about this session, about the name English, about the sprite knowledge you took in when you merged with Jadesprite. It all points to his death in some way you don't quite understand.  
"Not that new," Dave's bro replies. He pauses and then says "You've dropped the whole evil thing."  
You stare at him and then avert you'd own gaze. "Yeah. I... sorry."  
You aren't sure what else to say, but you are saved from having to try when he says "Sorry, nevermind. We all do shitty things. Once in a while at least." You can hear the tension and regret in his voice.  
"Maybe Dave was right," your mutter. You hadn't realized how bitter and resentful you were until now, and it scares you for a moment because ever since you've been here there's been so much more hate and bitterness coming out of you and maybe it's not just the grimbark thing. You don't want to be like this, you don't, and you struggle for a moment before you decide that screw it, not saying it won't make it go away. "No heroes here except John. Not sure why he has to have the monopoly on getting things right."  
"Fuck Dave," Dirk says sharply, cutting off any further musing. "Fuck Dave and heroics and all that bullshit. Why the hell does he get to give up?" Suddenly he's crossed the fragile barrier of untouched snow between you and grabs your collar, shoving you back up against a tree. Your own anger and bitterness is eclipsed by shock and fear at his. "Why the hell did you let him give up, why does he get to throw in the towel, huh?" You can see his eyes through his shades now, orange and narrowed and matching perfectly the snarl on his lips. "Why am I the one stuck dealing with all his shit, WHY DOES HE GET TO GIVE UP?" 

You flinch, close your eyes, and wait, but nothing more comes. You open one eye, then the other, and see his kneeling form trembling. His grip on you lessens, and carefully you take his hand in yours. The two of you sit like that, him shivering and you kind of awkwardly holding his hand, for a while. You see a couple of silent tears run down his cheek and he bites his lip. You pull him into a hug, because that's what people do to comfort each other, at least it's what you and John did on the ship.  
He smells a little like Davesprite and a lot like sweat and metal and he's so much bigger than you. Dave was a little taller and Davesprite about five inches by the time you broke up, but Dirk has to be almost a foot higher than you and you can feel how incredibly strong he is, and you suspect he could crush you if he wanted to. But he doesn't. He just sits there as you try to help even though this is awkward and you aren't sure what to do. You don't think he's crying anymore and you pull back.  
He looks up, no more visible tears. He swallows. "Shit, sorry," he says in a raw voice. "I didn't mean to throw that at you, sorry. Really."  
"It's... it's okay, really," you decide, flashing him a nervous smile.  
"No," he replies. "No. Lets just. Forget this ever happened, okay? Just forget it."  
Your smile fades. "Okay. Forgotten." It's a lie, the kind that everyone knows is a lie but accepts anyway. "Are you going to be okay?"  
Yeah, he will, he replies. And you hear the no, the tension, the bitterness in his voice, but you pretend otherwise. After all, what pride he can keep, you might as well let him have.


End file.
